


my baby just cares for me

by MinilocIsland, Treehouse



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinilocIsland/pseuds/MinilocIsland, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treehouse/pseuds/Treehouse
Summary: It's Isak's birthday, and Even has never been happier.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 76
Kudos: 250





	my baby just cares for me

**Author's Note:**

> We literally got this idea last night and decided that we just had to do something about it – so, here you go! It's quick and unbetaed, but still. 
> 
> For Isak, and everything he means to us <3

Sometimes, Even thinks, it's the little things that does it. 

That certain angle to Isak’s smile. That glint in his eye when he's surprised by something Even does for him.

Simple things like bringing him coffee in bed on Saturdays, or packing him a sandwich for his study date, things that bring that almost overwhelmed look to Isak’s face. Because still, after more than three years, Isak doesn't take anything Even does for granted. 

It kinda breaks Even's heart a little, how Isak doesn't seem to think himself worthy of the attention—but secretly, he revels in the way Isak's smile blooms from it. In the kisses that always follow.

Or, like now: in an apartment packed with people laughing, drinking and dancing. How Isak's gaze immediately softens when he sees Even, how he smiles when Even walks over to where Isak is standing. That small smile that Even knows is only for him. 

He knows Isak's getting tired, sees it in how he’s slouching a little against the wall, in how he's barely engaged in whatever conversation is going on around him. Even is the one who suggests it though, who yawns not-so-subtly and asks Isak if he's ready to leave.

"Are you?" Isak says with a raised eyebrow and a tiny cock of his head, even though he doesn't really need to. 

When they’re out in the street, Isak squeezes his hand and shoots him that little grateful smile. A smile that means that he knows what Even just did for him—but, Even knows as well as Isak that it goes both ways. That people will soon be getting too rowdy and loud for Even, who doesn’t really drink that much.

And that’s why Even sends the same smile back to him and nods.

They’re going home.

* * *

"I—I really needed this."

"Food?"

It's not just food, and they both know it. It's the whole thing: Isak, cooking for Even after a late shift, the first one he's been able to manage after depression struck this spring. It’s been lengthy this time, grey and dull and sticky. Not that he's been awfully sad or down, just that consistent lack of energy and initiative. That reminds Even of just how sick he actually is. 

Not that he forgets, of course. It's just that with Isak it's easier to not think about it. It’s in how he never pressures Even, only kindly reminds him of his therapy appointments. How he always remembers to bring an extra bottle of water, since Even always forgets. In how he never sighs when Even can't get out of bed, again. 

"Yeah, food." Even looks up across the table, at Isak's curls shining in the yellow light of the street lamp outside. "But also—you."

Before, Even almost couldn't stand being touched when he was down. It kinda felt draining or intrusive, like they were trying to comfort him out of his depression. But it's something with how Isak isn't afraid to lay down beside Even, to run his fingers through Even's hair or to just sleep beside him that makes it feel different. Effortless.

It just comes... natural to him. Like Isak sometimes feels like an extension of Even's own body, intuitively knowing what Even wants and needs before he knows it himself. 

The thought warms him a little, and for the first time in weeks he feels the corners of his mouth turn upward. It's a strange, stiff movement, like he's smiling through lead, but Isak reaches out and touches his jaw with his thumb. 

"What?" Even asks. 

"Nothing." Isak's foot comes up to hook around his calf. "I just like seeing you smile."

* * *

Strength. Perhaps that's it. A stubbornness, that decisive, headstrong streak that Even lacks but Isak doesn't. 

Even isn't sure he'd have the strength for this: to sit beside the mother who wasn't a mother when Isak needed it the most, who is so much of a shadow of who she once must have been, and still hold her hand. Listen to her talking about her day in a flat, vague voice, sometimes forgetting the subject and staring into thin air. 

Even knows how much it pains Isak to see her like this, and still, he comes here at least once a month.

Even knows he's gonna need to hold him after, that Isak will be more quiet than usual tonight—but Isak still comes. For Marianne’s sake, but also for his own, he claims. Even if they've talked about how Isak isn't obliged to do this so many times, he still comes.

Even's so fucking proud of him. 

"Do you want some more coffee, Even?" Marianne asks, and Isak looks up at him and smiles. It's a bit faint, but warm, curled top lip stretching over his teeth. 

Even can't wait to kiss it. Later, at home.

Isak takes his hand as soon as they're out of Marianne's flat. Like he needs the strength. He doesn't say anything though, and Even doesn't either. Just leads Isak through the park and down the street to the tram stop in silence. Knows that Isak will talk later, or maybe tomorrow. He squeezes Isak's hand a little, relieved when Isak squeezes back.

Later, when they're at home, Isak curls up against him on the couch. Lets Even hold him, is almost chasing his touch even though Even has no intention of letting go. An old movie they've both seen runs on the TV, but Even is looking at Isak. How the crease between his brows is almost gone now, how he's more relaxed, leaning heavily against Even.

"You know how mum always takes out the nice china when you're there?" 

"The cups with the blue flowers?" 

Isak nods. "M-hm. I think they were my grandmother's or something." He goes quiet for a while after that, but doesn't move. Lets Even continue to stroke his hair. "I don't think I would go see her that often if she didn't like you." 

It sounds easy when Isak says it. But Even knows how hard he's been working, how much he's been challenging himself—and his mom—to get to where they are today. 

He's the strongest person Even knows. 

* * *

Then, there's also that other kind of strength that Isak possesses.

How broad his shoulders have become, how proudly he carries himself. How he can carry Even, not only metaphorically but also physically. 

Isak's always been sinewy, with a lean sort of brawniness, but over the more than three and a half years they've been together, he's grown into his body somehow.

And Even loves it. He could watch Isak's body for hours; his sturdy long thighs, covered in that fuzzy golden hair that Even loves. Isak’s flat chest, the six-pack that has emerged on his belly. 

And, how he puts that strength to use.

Like now, when he's holding Even firmly in place, fucking him so slow and so precise that Even’s on the verge of losing it. Isak's hands on his thighs, keeping him spread open, each movement controlled, like Isak knows exactly what he's doing.

And fuck, he does.

"Like this?" The tip of Isak's tongue comes out at the corner of his mouth as he bends Even almost in half, putting all of his weight behind it, as much teasing as satisfaction in his smile.

Even can only groan in response, and grabs on to of Isak's hands on his thigh just to hold on to something. 

He's going to come like this, he's so fucking close that he's almost shaking, dick weeping on his stomach. Isak is fucking him harder now, faster, and Even knows he's going to feel it tomorrow. That he'll be both stiff and sore, and that he'll probably talk Isak into fucking him again when they wake up. Slowly, when they're both still soft from sleep.

Even knows he's gonna love it just as much as he loves this. Isak would call him a sap for it, but—Even just can't get enough of being taken care of by his own, strong, stubborn, loving, impossibly hot man. 

"Like this," he pants and then he comes, Isak around him and deep inside him and he's everywhere. Everything. 

* * *

Even can't believe it's already been three years. Three whole years since he made that silly movie that Isak had to figure out how to find. 

Since then it's become a sport of sorts, making Isak figure out or find his own present. Even usually doesn't use riddles or stuff like that—Isak is far too smart and would solve it in an instant. Also, Even is too much of a romantic sap to think up anything that hasn't got to do with _them._

This year isn't any different, and he can't wait to see Isak's reaction when he opens his gift. 

How his face will go from interested to puzzled to frowning over the 21 puzzle pieces Even has cut out from cardboard. He’s pretty certain he’ll see happiness spreading over Isak’s features as he solves it: the map leading to his aunt’s cabin where they’ll spend the next weekend. 

He can’t wait to have three whole long days by themselves, in the woods overlooking the sea. To watch Isak’s body gleam in the red late night sun, only for Even to see.

Isak rubs his cheek against the pillow as Even sits down on the side of the bed, and looks up in confusion for a second. And then, he smiles. That toothy, sleepy, delighted grin that Even will never tire of.

“Happy birthday, baby.” He buries his face in the crook of Isak’s neck, and feels Isak’s fingertips dig into his hair. 

No. He’ll never tire of this. 

Because, Even thinks, it's not only the little things. It's the big ones, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find us on Tumblr: modestytreehouse and irazor.


End file.
